


and you’re making the typical me break my typical rules

by darkdropout



Series: sucker for you [1]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Smoking, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkdropout/pseuds/darkdropout
Summary: possible prequel to "say the word and i'll go anywhere blindly" if, say, you read that while imagining that it was happning in the 1920s outside a speakeasy. just in case that is what you were thinking.





	and you’re making the typical me break my typical rules

 Getting in and out of the bar is not a particularly difficult task for those in the know. Nino has been in and out twice this very evening, but such are the privileges of a regular patron – and such are the responsibilities of a friend of Aiba Masaki, a man who cannot be expected to remember a secret password for as long as it takes for him to locate the correct alley and the correct door to speak it to.

It is over an hour already since Aiba was meant to join Nino here, which means that Nino has no choice but to venture back out into the chilly evening to check again on his wayward friend’s whereabouts. The light from the opening door illuminates the street as Nino steps out onto the pavement. He is expecting to see Aiba there waiting for him, an apology already tumbling from his lips – but as usual such a scenario is too much to hope for.

The alley is not entirely empty however. Though it is not Aiba, there is a man leaning against the wall on the other side of the street.

To being with, this man is far too small to be Nino’s towering, gangly friend. He is quite well-dressed. His shoes are expensive and there is a glint of a gold watch chain hanging from his pocket, though he is far from neatly put together – the front of his waistcoat is misbuttoned by one and there’s a bit of his white shirt visibly untucked underneath his jacket. His hair is dark and haphazardly styled, falling slightly into his face. He’s handsome, Nino thinks, just as the door shuts firmly into place behind him, leaving both himself and this stranger in darkness.

It takes a few, dazzling moments for Nino’s eyes to adjust, for his surrounds to fall back into muted focus. When they do, the man is still there, standing across from him.

“Hello,” the man says, flashing a shy smile.

“Hello,” Nino replies.

It is not particularly prudent to be making small talk with an unknown man outside a speakeasy. He could be a policeman after all, but in Nino’s experience (and he has had quite a few), policemen very rarely have such a sheepish expression on their face. Besides, Nino has often been told he is too curious for his own good, and he _is_ in need of some distraction to fill the time while he waits for Aiba to arrive. A handsome stranger with a gold watch chain has often been his preference in such instances, and there is no reason for tonight to be any different.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” Nino offers conversationally, as he fishes out his dented cigarette case from inside his jacket. He doesn’t particularly want to smoke, but as is often the case of late, he finds himself in need of something to occupy his restless hands.

He doesn’t have a light, he realizes too late. But before he can snap his case shut again, the man is pushing lightly off the wall and stepping forward, fumbling in his own pocket until he produces a set of surprisingly cheap-branded matches.

“Here,” he says, voice soft as he strikes one alight. He cups the flame with long, elegant fingers before holding it up to Nino.

Nino smirks. He puts a cigarette to his lips and leans forward so that the man can light it for him. The glow of the match casts bright shadows along the man’s face, the long line of his nose and soft bow of his mouth, and Nino finds himself leaning a bit closer than is strictly necessary into the other man’s space.

“Thank you,” says Nino when the man steps back again with downcast eyes.

“No trouble,” he replies, smiling down at his shoes.

Nino takes a puff of his cigarette, frowning at the harsh taste of it despite himself. He has been trying to quit, for Aiba’s sake, but with little success so far. He holds the cigarette out, offering, and the man looks up again.

“No, thank you,” he answers. “I’m trying to quit.”

He meets Nino’s eyes this time and Nino feels his mouth go dry for reasons that have nothing to do with his smoking.

“Ah! Nino!” a voice calls out and Nino tears his eyes away from the man in front of him to see Aiba hurrying down the pavement, his hat in his hand as he waves it enthusiastically in Nino’s direction. 

Nino drops his cigarette, stomping it into the ground without a second thought. “You’re late,” he scolds when Aiba comes to a stop in front of him, panting lightly. “And I’m certain you’ve forgotten the password.”

Aiba grins, reaching out to pat the top of Nino’s head affectionately. Nino tries to duck away from him with little success, ending up with the majority of Aiba’s hand covering his face. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. It’s – oh, yes, I did forget. Sorry, Nino!”

Nino extricates himself from Aiba’s petting, if only to make sure that Aiba can observe the full force of his eye rolling.

“Come on then,” Nino says with a put-upon sigh, leading Aiba back to where the bar door has neatly concealed itself into the building wall, almost entirely invisible unless one knew where to look.

Nino has already lifted his hand, about to rap on the door in the prescribed pattern, when he turns to look to the man still standing quietly behind him. 

“Will you be coming in?” Nino asks him, against his better judgment.

The man’s expression turns sheepish again, and he scuffs his expensive shoe against the ground near Nino’s discarded cigarette. “I’m afraid I don’t have the password either,” he mumbles.

He sounds embarrassed, Nino thinks, perhaps even a little contrite. The most important rule of any speakeasy is never to invite in strangers loitering outside the door. Nino knows this rule, and the price of breaking it, very well. And yet –

“Follow me,” Nino says, allowing himself only the briefest of moments to appreciate the beatific smile that lights up the man’s face at his words, before he's back to knocking on the door in front of him.

The door swings open. “These gentlemen are with me,” Nino says to the doorman, who nods and steps back to let them enter.


End file.
